Relighting Embers
by Everything'sOnFire
Summary: "So apparently... I've cheated death." Clove, a fallen tribute from district two, has been revived and is now living under ground among other 'revived tributes.' And just as the anniversary of her death is drawing near a massive twist is thrown her way. An opportunity that will alter her life in more ways she could imagine. And like the head-strong character she is, she takes it.
1. Chapter 1

**Ok so it's my first ever fanfiction and my first ever properly written out story... so don't expect much. xD**

**Credit to Hana Munton (Clover's-Secret) for the Cover Image and having the final edit on the chapter.**

**Now, as Toby Turner has said many times, Peace off. BOOP!**

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**CHAPTER ONE -**

I've got her. My knife against her throat, my powerful figure weighing her down. I've got her. I am panting hysterically and covered in blood, but I've got her. My head cocks to the side slightly and with my usual mocking tone as I ask "Where's your boyfriend district 12?" My voice is reverberant and distorted; it must be to do with the adrenalin from the fight. "Still hanging on?" I say, in a seemingly caring tone, although my sarcasm is exceedingly obvious. "He's out there now, hunting Cato." Anger boils from the pit of my stomach. "Peeta!" She squeals for her district partner, but I lash out, jamming my fist in to her throat, cutting off her pathetic screams. "Liar!" I snarl, with a devilish grin. "I may have lost the battle last time, but now, I am going to kill you, and your precious little 'star crossed lover' can't do anything about it." I break in to a small chuckle, my sadistic smirk clearly striking her with fear. My hand fumbles down to the back of my jeans and I quickly take out a knife, it's small, but sharper than any other. I press it gently against the side of her cheek, as I tilt my head to the side, this will, in no way, be quick. I intend to make her death… entertaining - for both the audience's sake, and mine. I raise the knife above my head, about to slam it in to the side of her face when the piercing sound of the mandatory alarm clock on my bed-side table sends my eyes flickering open.

It was only a dream, like always.

I attempt to sit up, but my head is spinning. Inhaling and exhaling slowly, I slip my legs out of the bed sheets and prop myself up with my hands. I am covered in sweat and shaking like mad, but there is no serious damage. Whenever I dream so vividly, there are always side effects, but they tend to be minor.

Forcing myself to stand, I begin to make my way to the bathroom. I put the shower on and, with a half-hearted attempt, begin to comb through my tangled mess of hair. Soon enough, I am showered, dressed and ready for the day. I stare in to my bathroom mirror, the dirt, finger prints and condensation on it making it hard to see my figure.

It has been exactly one year.

It has been exactly one year since I volunteered to be sent to my death.

The bell signalling that it is ten minutes until nine o'clock rings, telling me I should be at the centre by now, as every "revived tribute" should be. In total, there are thirty three of us. We do not know why the capitol saved us and not the others, but I am not naïve like most, and know it must only be beneficial for them. I look down at the sink; various different tablets in multi-coloured containers fill the bowl. I have been to psychiatrist after psychiatrist, each one trying to shove a new drug down my throat to make me feel better about myself for another hour. But I don't want to forget the moment I spent my whole life training for. I don't want to forget the victim's screams as I shoved a knife in to their flesh. I don't want to forget, it was Katniss Everdeen, who put me here. And I don't want to forget, that if it's the last thing I do, I _will _kill her.

I let my eyes slowly flicker down from the mirror to the ground as I let my mind wander. It is only until the second bell, telling us to hurry up, goes off I am drawn out of this trance. I don't want to see anybody today, but I will have to. They gather all of us every Sunday to make sure we are all still well and functioning, just as a farmer would, checking on his livestock.

An irritated growl escapes me as I turn to walk towards the door of my compartment. I slowly open it, my eyes drawn back to my bed, the only place I want to be right now, but I gather up every piece of strength I can master and step out of the door, slowly shutting it behind me as I look from left to right. No one is around; they're all probably there by now. Beginning the short journey to the centre, I let my mind drift again; I've been doing that a lot lately. I can't help but wonder what my life would be like if I had killed her, if I had won. Maybe I wouldn't be stuck in this prison. I haven't seen daylight in a year, and I still don't know where I am. There are no windows, no gardens; I never thought I'd miss something as simple as fresh air.

I am half way through my train of thought when a loud and powerful voice shocks my back in to reality.

"Late again, Clove?" I look behind me to see that our advisor, Conall, has been following my steps, no doubt he's also on his way to the centre. Here, it's different to the Capitol, they have different rules, different life styles and different instructions (The advisers being one of them). There is one advisor per District, but no matter how ridiculous their fashion sense is and how over-the-top they are, most are caring enough; but not Conall. He stands around six feet tall, has short caramel brown hair, and there's a certain something about him that instantly makes you intimidated, and it would me too, if I couldn't tackle him to the ground in a heartbeat.

"Yes, I was sleeping in. You should try it sometime; it would give you a chance to catch up on some clearly missed beauty sleep." I say, in my usual mocking like tone of voice.

"Funny." He says bluntly. I can't help but smirk a little, but if only it were true. Almost every girl is obsessed with him. I have no idea if it's the fact he's young, powerful or just cruel but it gets the girl excited. I really don't see it, though. "If only you were as good at throwing knives are you were humorous, and then maybe you would've won your games." A shock wave of anger jolts through me as his words sink in. I want to rip in to him like a wolf would to a deer carcass, but he's from the Capitol, and I'd defiantly get punished for that, no matter what he does to me. I can't afford to be locked in confinement again. So I have to settle for silence instead of another quick witted remark, no matter how clever my comebacks are.

Soon enough the narrow corridor ends, replaced with a large steel, circular door. I place my hand on a small plastic tab and a dim blue line of light runs down the screen, scanning my finger prints. In a matter of seconds the two halves of the door slip in to hiding, and the way is revealed. "Welcome Clove of District Two." A robotic voice states, as I walk through the gateway, leaving Conall behind me. The door reveals a wide open room, much like the training centre in the Capitol, although instead of various weapons and targets, there is a stage and some chairs and tables scattered around the room. Standing in order of district and gender are the rest of the revived tributes. But this isn't usual. There's a kind of tension in the air, it's almost nerve racking. Slowly, I draw myself to a halt, standing behind another girl from my district, if I recall, her name is Lilith. She also volunteered for the games, but unlike me, she died very early on in the games. From what I remember she's not the smartest of people.

"Well I see you all made it down here." The loud voice of Conall sends at least half of the reaps, (that's what a lot of the capitol and wealthy districts call reaped tributes) stumbling forward with surprise as he makes his way across the hall. As I look over I notice he is now staring at a small computer tablet, which tells him who has signed in, and all our basic information. Normally the compound instructor gives us the announcements of the week; I wonder why he's been replaced. "So, let's get down to business." He pauses for a moment, placing the screen on the stage. "As some of the more observant ones of you may have noticed, this week is the week the week that the victors of the 74thannual Hunger Games were announced." My eyes narrow as he looks towards me; I am starting to think he wants to annoy the hell out of me. What a ass. He knows I think I've brought shame to my district, and he's not helping by rubbing it in. His eyes fall to mine, so I look to my right, in attempt to ignore him. In the corner of my eye I spot Cato, he's looking directly at me. He was my district partner in the games, and not only that, he was my lifelong friend. We were in the games by accident together, and ever since we haven't been the same. We've grown apart. I guess you'd have to if you were certain to have to kill each other. Most locals of your District probably expected us to grow up and marry each other, we were that close. Maybe if I didn't spend eight hours a day practising knife throwing, I would have liked him as more than a friend, but my life revolved around my training. It still does.

I have to turn almost fully around to face him.'You OK?' he mouths, and I give a small nod, he knows how fragile the subject of the Hunger Games is for me, but since I've wound up here, it's all I've been thinking about. "And this year, is the Quarter Quell." Conall Continues. "This year, as we do every Quarter Quell, we are going to add a twist to our games. We are going to hold the Hunger Games, featuring some of you." The different tributes exchange confused looks, but my eyes are fixed looking ahead as he goes on. "We are going to reap one male and one female per district from the pool of revived tributes. And this time... don't expect to be saved." As it begins to sink in, I begin to understand. I can go in to the Games again.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO -**

Some tributes remain silent, shell shocked; others let out small shrieks of fear;some even burst in to tears. But there is only one thing racing through my mind; I've been given a second chance. I can finally earn my place among the victors. "All of you were revived to have another chance in the games, because you all showed winning potential."

"Can we volunteer?" A blonde haired girl from District One blurts out. And with a small smile, he replies. "Of course, all of the rules remain the same, apart from age range. We have gotten rid of the rule allowing only ages from twelve to eighteen to enter. As some of you have grown up since your last time in the arena." He says smoothly, followed by a wink in her general direction. Ok, he's not only a ass, he's also a pervert. But that doesn't matter now, all that matters is that I can do this. I can finally bring honour to my district.

"The reaping will be held in exactly three hours." Conall says casually. He must not realise how much this is for the reaps to take in. Even I'm finding it hard to comprehend.

"What? You're not even giving us time to prepare!" A boy from District Three exclaims, frantically. But Conall just laughs.

"Prepare, and just how would you do that?" He states coolly. "You will be given three days to brush up on any skills you may have. Just like before." The boy does not look amused, but after all he is a reap and probably does not have any skills what so ever. His luck isn't very good either, with only one other boy revived from district three; the odds are most certainly not in his favour.

"Now go! Get ready. Be here for twelve sharp, or else you _will _enter the games, no matter your odds." The tributes scatter off in to different directions, heading towards the small friendship groups they had formed over the past few years. I, however, head straight for the door; I've got to get some training done, even if it is only for a couple of hours.

By the time I walk through the door, I have the basis of a strategy planned out in my head. I was my need to torture and torment that put me at a disadvantage last time. This time around I have to be able to kill quickly and move on. It can't be that hard, can it?

I quickly lower my frame until I am lying across the floor. My hand stretches until it is under my bedside table. My fingers uncurl from a fist as I slowly glide my hand across the carpet, until my hand clasps a small metallic box. I gradually pull it out, slowly raising my figure until I kneeling and my posture is upright. I reach up to my neck and yank at a chain, as it breaks the pendent falls in to the palm of my hand. It is a small key. Inserting the key in to the lock and turning it, I flip open the steel lid. Inside are a selection of knives, all different shapes and sizes. I slowly lower my hand down, and pick up a thin kitchen knife by the blade. Technically, revived tributes are not allowed to handle weapons, but if that were completely true knives wouldn't be so easy to steal from the canteen.

I slowly stand, my figure swiftly turning to look behind me and with a sudden flick of my wrist I send the dagger flying towards the wall. It lands dead centre of a dark stain on the pale blue pained wall. A small smile creeps on to my face, as I stand in place, taking in the pleasure of the sport I have been so long off putting.

"Once a knife thrower, always a knife thrower," I hear Cato's voice from behind me. He is leaning against the door frame, staring at me with a small smile.

"Right," I confirm with a soft like tone to my voice. My voice is only soft when I am around the ones I trust and care for. And to be honest, since my mother died, Cato is the only one I have cared for in a long while. It was difficultwhen we were put in to the games together. I had to get rid of the only caring emotions I've ever had towards someone. We've been close friends again for a while now, but Cato will be going back in to the games too, and I can't let emotions draw me back like last time. One of my former psychiatrists thinks I may have taunted Katniss in the open to draw others away from an injured Cato. He suffered from the tracker jackers a lot worse than the rest of us did. I don't believe I would do something as stupid as that, but either way, having loving feelings towards another contestant in a fight to the death is not a good idea. Especially when you're a career.

"Why are you here?" I ask, before processing what I said. He raises an eye brow with a slight smirk. "I mean, shouldn't you be practising for the games?"

His mouth drops open, and his eyes draw wide. "You're going in, again?" It is obvious he is surprised, and I can tell by his reaction, I look surprised too.

"You're not?" I ask, surprise clear in my tone of voice.. How can he not go in again? He was so close to winning, why would he give up the one chance to finally get the most glory a person can in this day and age.

"Of course not!" He replies, as if it was obvious. "We died last time, Clove! What if that happens again?"

"It won't!" I insist.

"How do you know?"

"Maybe because I actually have the skill and intelligence to win! If it wasn't for Katni-"

"Oh it was all Katniss's fault!" He snaps in a high pitch tone of voice. I think he's trying to mimic me. "If you haven't noticed, Katniss didn't kill you Thresh did." I begin to snap back, to say something clever, but he interrupts me. "Haven't you figured it out? Everything they tell us: 'you're destined to win', 'you'll have all you ever want', 'you will be remembered forever.' It's all a lie! They use us for entertainment. We're nothing more than a sick show." He's left me silent. Is that true? No; it's not. It's a show yes, and there will be death. But that is life. It's survival of the fittest. It's cruel, but it's our culture now.

"You're wrong!" I snarl, my anger clearly showing now.

"You know I'm right." He pushes on; he must not know how much this means to me.

"Uh, whatever, do what you want, it's not like I care anyway. With one less idiot in the pack I'll be sure to win!" I growl. I don't think I've ever been this mad at him before.

"Oh yeah, I'm the idiot!" He snaps sarcastically. "I'm not the one who got killed because of their stupidity to stay in the open."

I pause, my eyes flickering to the ground. All the shouting has taken it's toll and now I fear I may crumble in front of him. No. Never show weakness.

"Clove," He says, his tone softening. It's obvious he knows now his words hurt more than sticks and stones

"Get out." I say walking forward towards him; however I refuse to make eye contact.

He stumbles backwards. "Clove," He repeats. I shut the door, and quickly lock it. "Clove, come on let me back in! I didn't mean to bring up the games. I just don't want to see you get killed." I slowly walk over to my bed, sitting on the mess of sheets and pillows as I hold my head in my hands. Anger is still racing through me. _I won't get killed. I won't get killed. _I repeat it over and over, trying to wash Cato's words from my mind. I squint my eyes tightly to block the tears beginning to form. "_Crying is a sign of weakness." _I tell myself. I am about to stand and walk over to my box of knives when a small sound makes itself apparent in the silence. I stop dead in my tracks and look around, but it's gone. It was probably nothing. I shake my head, I can't let anything distract me. I have two hours left to train and I will _not _let them go to waste.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE** -

By the time the first bell goes off to tell us it's time to reassemble at the centre, I am dressed in a half-silk-half-cotton sky blue dress, staring at myself in the dirt ridden mirror in my compartment. As I stare at my distorted reflection thoughts being to flood my mind. Maybe that boy was right, maybe they haven't given us enough time to prepare, last time we had our whole life, today we've had two and a half hours. Normally they would've given us at least a week, why is this so rushed? And what if Cato's right, the Capitol has never done this before, why now? _No_. I tell myself. This is not the time for second thoughts._Just do, be impulsive. _Our trainer back in district two used to say to us every morning. He was right. I want to do this. I need to do this. No one ever gets a second chance at this? Why waste it? The second bell rings through my room and I know I have to stop debating with myself in my head and go down to the centre. As I leave my room I slowly look back, I have been living here for almost a year and even though it's a dirty, stuffy little room, I am sure I will miss it. I slowly shut the door behind me and begin to travel down the hall way. This time, as I am not late, there are more people in the hall way. The tension in the air is so thick it is almost tangible. Nervous eyes flicker from person to person; everyone's sizing each other up, hoping it's someone else's name that's drawn from the large glass bowl. It's silly, really. Hope has nothing to do with the odds. No matter how hard you wish it will never alter the fact if you're chosen, you're chosen. Nothing will change you. So why spend your time wishing the bad away?

By the time I reach the large metallic door there is a line of tributes in front of me. I pass the time waiting until we're all allowed in by subtlety staring at the other people in the corridor. Listing out possible strengths and, more likely, possible weaknesses. The majority of people here are reaps, I guess they're actually taking Conall's threat seriously. Caught in mid-daydream, I realise how fast the line is travelling only when someone brutally knocks in to my from behind. "Hey watch where yo-" My sentence trails off as I turn around to find an emotionless Cato staring back at me. He looks smug. I can't help but want to punch him. "Oh, it's you." I say, my voice dropping the angry tone it just had, but I make an effort to remain my irritated facial expression.  
"Let me guess, you're so stubborn you're still going to volunteer?" He says in a somewhat cutting way.  
"Why does it matter to you?" I remark back quickly. Why does he care so much?  
"Maybe because I don't want to see you get killed." He states like it's obvious.  
"Again, why does it matter to you?" It's not like we mean anything to each other. "I thought we'd agreed before the last games, no more friendship between us." I have to drop my voice down to a whisper now. Even though there are a few people talking, we're still drawing attention. He's about to say something, when a loud beeping sound echoes through the narrow room, followed by a snooty, high-pitched voice.  
"All revived tributes _must _be in the assembly hall in five minuets. I repeat, all revived tributes _must _be in the assembly hall in five minuets." Then it all falls silent. I'm now at the front of the queue. My hand slips down to the small glass plate, soon enough opening the door, and just before I step through I give a soft sigh. "Good bye, Cato." I say, instantly. And then, without looking back or waiting for a reply, I walk on through.

The hall is laid out exactly how it was back in the Districts. District One is on the far left, whereas District Twelve is on the far right. Laid out on the stage are twenty four perfectly shaped, crystal clear, glass bowls, holding each of our names in. I have no idea how they settled the odds, they could be completely bias, but either way, there is still a chance your name is in there. The older tributes stand near the front while the younger ones stand at the back. There are no twelve year olds, but there are ages up to twenty year old. So this could be interesting. Inhaling slowly I begin to walk towards where I think I should stand. I end up between two other girls, both taller and bigger than I am, but it doesn't intimidate me in the slightest. As we wait for the others to enter I begin to wonder (and I have no idea why this thought hadn't crossed my mind before) is anyone else going to volunteer from District Two? It's not organised like all the other games, I wonder what will happen if more than one person volunteers. My train of thought is cut off quite suddenly as the loud sound of microphone feedback makes it's way through the room. The girl next to me almost falls over due to the surprise. "Welcome, welcome!" The annoyingly peppy Flora Summers sequels with excitement, I found her to be the most annoying escort and just my luck, she's the one hosting the reaping. She positions herself on the stage before us, a large microphone standing upright in front of her. "The time has come to select twelve courageous young men and women for the honour of representing their district in the third Quarter Quell Hunger Games!" She stands with an exceptionally upright posture and she waves her arms around in the air with excitement. She really needs to take a sedative or something. Thick layers of make-up cake her face in a aqua blue tint, matching her sea green ensemble of an outfit. Well, I say outfit, I mean random pieces of fabric hanging off her overly-skinny figure. "Now! We will begin with District One's reaping but before hand, the Compound Instructor has something to say!" Flora looks around, hopefully, but no one else is up there with her. A few mumbles break out from the crowd as the seconds tick by slowly, conversing at the unusual sight of seeing a reaping so unorganised. And just when Flora is about to continue on, Conall steps on to the stage, calling her over to him. With her usual, and quite frankly laughable, gait she trots over to him. He whispers something that, by their facial expressions, not even the tributes at the front can hear. Oh well. I'm sure with Flora's loud personality it will become clear to us sooner or later.

Flora skips back to centre stage and begins talking once more. "Unfortunately, the Compound instructor can't be here today, so I guess we'll get right down to business." It's strange, he hasn't been around all day. We normally see too much of him, and now it's like he's vanished in to thin air. Well, I guess it's not the strangest thing to happen around here. After all, there are people bringing other people back from the dead. "District One first!" She squeaks, as she makes her way to the first of the twenty four large transparent containers in front of her. I am perfectly confident in my abilities to win these games, but I will admit it always brings butterflies to my stomach when the reap the other career districts. "As usual, ladies first!" She reaches her hand in to the deep basin and rummages deep in to the mass of folded bits of paper. Soon enough, her long talon-like fingers (and I'm not being rude, her finger nails are at least six inches long) find the slip of choice. The person whose name is written on that slip is going to die. Most likely, I am going to kill them. "Nalina Peach!"  
"I volunteer as tribute!" Every head in the room spins around to see who the first willing participant is. All eyes are on an older teenage girl with long strawberry blonde hair curling down to her waist. She smiles sweetly and confidently walks up to the platform, as if she hasn't just volunteered for her death. "And what's your name?" Flora Summers forces a crooked smile, maybe she isn't that keen to be here after all. "Bliss Night." She beamed. There is some brief chat between the two, in which I zone out in, and it is only when the District One male volunteer is climbing up on to the stage that I zone back in. I turn my attention to the platform, my eyes narrowing in attempt to re-focus them. The naturally narrow and tall figure, scruffy blonde hair, plain facial features. It could've been anyone, but it wasn't. Marvel? When did he get revived. I haven't seen him since... well... he died. We were in the same ally pack, the career pack, in the seventy forth Hunger Games. I never really talked to him, let alone get close to him, but it's still a shock since Cato and I were brought here as soon as we died. Why is he only here now? I'm lost in my thoughts when Flora Summers announces the name of the female District Two tribute. "Karissa Mason." Everything slows down. I look around, eyes are searching the crowd, expecting a courages, vicious person to volunteer. I'm that person. "I volunteer as tribute!" I declare sternly, my voice echoing through the large hall. And then suddenly, everyone's eyes are fixated on me. I don't have to push my way through the crowd, they all, just sort of, slip out of my way as I make my journey to the stage. Flora ushers me up the steps and soon enough I am standing next to Marvel, looking straight out in to the crowd. "What's your name, dear?"  
"Clove Corbsy." I reply, making sure no emotion is clear in my tone of voice.  
"Well, everyone, let's give a hand for our lovely Clove, volunteer female tribute for District Two." Slowly people begin to clap, but it fades pretty quickly. Everyone just wants this over with, but I mean to savour this moment. "Now for the boys!" She smiles, brightly, stepping over to District Two's other bowl. This could be interesting. Chances are, my fight with this person will be the last, and it will mean my life or death. Flora scopes out a name from the centre of the bowl, but she doesn't even get a chance to read it before someone shouts out: "I volunteer as tribute!" Sometimes in life, something unexpected happens. Something so unexpected the whole world just kind of slows down, to allow you time to compensate for that the hell is going on. This however, did not happen. Mumbles break out from the crowd as a confident Cato pushes his way through the gathering of people.

For a moment, I am stunned. What the hell is he trying to pull? Was it a trick? Did he not want me to volunteer because he knew I would stand a chance at beating him? Oh, this was a new low, even for him. But I guess, there are no limits to how deceitfully you can be if your about to be shoved in an arena to kill twenty three other people. I suppose, it's as much as it is about harming people mentally as well as physically. Mumbles break out from the crowd, I'm pretty sure everyone knows Cato and I have a history. Well, at least it's capturing people's attention. The whole time Flora is talking to him, his eyes flicker between the crowd and me, but my eyes are only fixated on the floor, however that doesn't change the fact I can feel his devious smirk trying to dig it's way inside me. He almost tricked me and he knows it. He's thinking to himself I wont be hard to fool once more, well think again Cato, because I _will_ beat you.

I _will_ kill you.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR -**

The next two hours travel in a blur of panic struck faces and mindless walking through narrow corridors. The reaping ends pretty abruptly. All other tributes that did not get reaped or volunteered themselves were shuffled out in to another corridor, one I didn't even known existed. They were undoubtedly shipped back to their districts. I would call them the lucky ones, if I was not so certain I was going to win. When all twenty four of us finally reach the station, there is no one else there. Well, what did I expect? We're still underground...well, I assume we are, who's going to show up? The station is barley a station. It's nothing more than a couple of feet of platform next to an opening tube where a train waits patiently for it's travellers. It's nothing like the bustling streets of last time. Flora shuffles her way to the front of the line of tributes, her extremely high heals clicking against the concrete floor. "All right everyone!" She squeals. I swear if she carries on this way she's going to end up with a knife in her back, and I can tell by the facial expressions of the other tributes that I'm not the only one whose considered this option to get her to shut up. "We have a train lined up for each district! Each train will leave ten minutes after the one before. District One, you're first, so all aboard!" Bliss and Marvel share a look, as if to say 'is she for real?' before following her to the train side doors.

We stand in silence for a small while until Flora trots back to the front of the cue; back to us. "Right, District Two, your carriage awaits!" I can't help but roll my eyes and shake my head, what goes on in that mind of hers, god only knows. I would bet it's not much, though. I hear a snicker to my right and look over. Cato's noticed the expression of annoyance on my face, and the fact that I am irritated is amusing him. "I suppose, I'm funny to you?" I say, maliciously.  
"You amuse me, yes." He replies, coolly. I am about to retaliate when Flora jumps in. "Now, come on you two. We're all waiting." I narrow my eyes, my gaze fixed on him as he begins to walk ahead of me. I am listing the possible ways I can torture him as we step on to the train. I instantly, forget all of that though as I make my way through the carriage. It's so... luxurious. Remember what the previous train was like? Well, times that by ten and you're just a little short of what it looks like now. The walls are lined with paintings that look as if they took forever and a day to create, backed with complex wall paper patterns and finished with an almost glossy polish. In the centre of the cart lies a large buffet table, filled with goods that I could only imagine. I've had amazing food in my time, being from a generally well-off area from District Two, but those were nothing in comparison to what is laying before me. Large leather couches filled the four corners of the small room and hanging on the ceiling above us hung a projector which cascaded a large frame of light on to the wall directly in front of us. This was amazing. "Woah..." I hear Cato mutter to himself. "I know, I know!" Fauna coos as she strides in to the centre of the room. I stare directly ahead, there is a large pane of glass taking up a the whole curved surface area of the wall. It looks like a window, but there's nothing to see from it but the other side of the concrete tunnel and a faint outline of District Three's train as it draws closer. "Well, I better go get District Three sorted out. Enjoy all of this!" She beams, before hurrying off the train and leaving Cato and I are alone.

Some time passes. I nibble at some biscuits and stare blankly at the TV. Cato had gone to his room long ago, leaving me alone in the main carriage. I don't know why he's being such a diva, after all, it was me who should be me not wanting to see him, not the other way around. Oh well, like I care. I continue flicking through channels, hoping to find something about the Quarter Quell, but there's nothing. It's like, it isn't even happening. There's no reply footage, no spectating, no interviews, no anything. "Wondering why your not being nationally broadcasted, Clovey?" My head spins around instantly, and guess who's in here with me. "I should have known you'd be looking for yourself, careers may be expert killers, but god are they vain." Conall sneers, looking down on me like I'm some kind of vermin. God if murder was legal... No. Stop. I can't be so cutting in my speech any more. One word and he could stop me from entering the Games. And by the childish smirk on his face, he knows that.

"I'm not vain." I state calmly. This is the _hardest _thing I've ever had to do... "I'm just curious to the fact why none of the Reaping has been shown."  
"It has been..." He states like it's obvious. "...earlier.  
"Well then, why are there no reruns." I ask, becoming impressed at how cool I can stay.  
"The Capitol have made these Games _very_ exclusive. Everything's live all the time. There are no reruns."  
"Oh...uh... OK?" I ask more than state. He chuckles and I can't help but feel anger boil up inside me. He sees me as inferior; he sees me as weak. Well, he wont for long.

I jolt up suddenly, like something has just clicked in to place which sends my spine to be perfectly upright, like a metal rod. I gasp for breath. _It wasn't real. It wasn't real. _I tell myself, but I can't help the fact I am covered in a thick layer of sweat and my heart is racing a mile a minuet. My fingers cling to the bed spread as I come to terms with where I am. I quickly slip out of the sheets and grab the silk dressing grown hung on a hook by my bed. I wrap it around me, even though I am perfectly warm. It's more a security thing than anything else. I step out of my quarters and head down the passage way until I get to the main living area. I watch out from the window again, still nothing but concrete. I continue on my way slowly, wondering if the whole thing will be held underground. Wondering if I will ever see the sunlight again. I sit myself down on one of the supple animal skin sofa and just think for a while, not about anything in particular, I just think. I think about The Games, then District Two, then winning for District Two, then death, and how it felt like when I died. It wasn't how most picture it. It wasn't like a walk-in-to-the-light kind of thing. Everything just kind of... faded. Nothing was there any more. I wasn't there any more. And even though I was dying, I felt strangely OK with everything all of a sudden.

Somewhere in between the daydreaming and philosophical thoughts I lose my consciousness and fade in to a dreamless sleep. It only feels like a few moments have passed when I awake. Although, it is actually morning. I lift my head up from laying on my arm to get a better view of where I am as I slowly draw myself back in to reality. The sudden flow of blood descending through my veins sends a tingling sensation down my arm. It feels strange, but as I gradually come to it seems to slip my mind. My jittery eyes dart back to the window. Concrete, still. I don't know what I was expecting to see, but I can't help feel slightly disappointed. I slowly bring myself to stand up. I guess I'll head back to my quarters for the next hour or so until I'm called for breakfast. Yet, just as I am about to turn away, a sudden bright light shines through the room. It's so blinding I have to lift my hand to shield my face from the harsh rays. As moments pass my eyes soon begin to focus and there, right in front of me, the light reveals the outside.

For a moment, I am frozen in place, standing upright in front of the large pain of glass. Large evergreen trees stand perfectly in order along the tracks and bright emerald strands of grass lay perfectly against the earth as the train rushes past. I must have been standing there for a while, because when I bring myself to look away from the window, I realise Cato is standing next to me. I'm about to come out with a quick witted comment, when I stop myself. It's been ages since he's seen light too, maybe I should just let him be for once, even if he wouldn't have done the same for me. I exhale deeply. This isn't like me, holding my tongue when I have something to say, but I guess once wont hurt.


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry this has taken me a while, my muse has been pretty low. Anyway, here's another chapter. :3

Also, please consider this hasn't been beta'd yet, as I wanted to get this up ASAP. So please excuse any silly mistakes.

I hope you enjoy.

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE -**

Seconds turn to minutes, minuets turn to hours and we are still gazing outside. Granted, we've gotten washed, changed and eaten something, but there hasn't been a point where both of us have left the window. I'm picking over bread and butter up the dining table, eyes still glued to the glass pane, when Conall walks in. I do not look away from the window as he begins to speak. "Right, so we'll be arriving in the Capitol in about an hour. I expect the two of you to remember your career-like ways and act as ruthless as ever."  
"Who's acting?" I sneer, popping another piece of bread in to my mouth.

"You know what I mean," He states, his temper gradually wearing shorter. "Oh, and remember, these Games may be different, but the same rules apply; don't go ripping each other to pieces before the games even start." ._..Ripping each other to pieces... _don't give me any ideas. He abruptly sits opposite me, blocking my view of the window, leaning in to the back of the chair as if he's forcing himself to act casual. He calls Cato over to sit with us, and reluctantly, he does. "Ok, now I'm sure you've realised I'm your mentor for the Games." He states, like it's one hundred percent obvious, when in fact I barley knew if the show was being aired or not until last night. "So we're not being mentored by Enobaria, Brutus, Faith, and the others... it's just you?" Cato asks. And something triggers inside of Conall. I have no idea what it is, but I can see it in his eyes. Only for a moment. Like a flash of a frown hidden behind a sinister mask. "No." He says. Wow, I was at least expecting some wise-ass comment. Very unusual for him. What's happened to those Victors? "Conall." I have to say to snap him back to reality. He looks up at me, and continues speaking once more. Like those past few seconds never even happened. It seems he's not himself today. I wonder why.

Time moves fairly quickly, and before I know it we're a few miles out from crossing Capitol borders. It's now almost half eleven at night; well, it was last time I checked. It's taken a lot longer to reach the Capitol than last time. They must have kept us locked up pretty far away. Cato and I stand perfectly upright, side by side as Capitol assistants fuss over our outfits and appearance, although not much is done. I assume we'll be prepared more after we arrive. After all, I haven't had a haircut since the last Games. I've got more split ends than I thought was even possible.

"All right, remember what I told you?" Conall asks as he exhales a deep sigh walking from the far right side of the room to stand before us. "Be fierce, be confident, be violet, be aggressive... be... you." He says with a dull tone pinned to his voice. I would have thought he would have bee a little more enthusiastic. His District's going to win another Games, he should be proud and patriotic, but no. The train suddenly cuts around a harsh bend and we are sent in to a tunnel that blocks all light that has found it's way from the outside in to the cabin and now all that remains are the occasional flickers of light from the lamps at each corner of the carriage; there must be an interference with the electricity in here. At least the first tunnel was lit with a substantial light source.

My eyes are transfixed on the window once more, expecting the Capitol skyscraper lights to shine bright in the dull cobalt night sky. And I am not disappointed. Dazzling rays of bright colours dance across the moonlit air. "We're here." Cato states, almost timidly. I guess it can be rather daunting to some, yet I can't wait to get started. "It's incredible." I remark. It seems even more amazing than before. The bright lights only add to how flawless the design of the Capitol really is. Crowds of people are already rallied up from District One's arrival, so that makes our job a little harder to impress them, but District Two have always been a favourite of the Capitol, and something like this should be no problem. I exhale a small sigh, my hands fumbling at the blood crimson, knee-high cotton gown they had dressed me in as I brush myself off. It's a common sign of insecurity to do such a thing, and I am hoping Cato notices. I'm not the only one who can play pretend. It may make killing him all the more easier if he thinks I am starting to weaken.

The train begins to slow as we are pulled through another pitch black tunnel. I can't wait to get off this train, it feels like I've been trapped here forever, but I suppose that's anticipation for you. Before I have time to ponder my thoughts any more, the train halts suddenly. It's show time.

We are hustled through two carriages before we reach where we are going to exit off the train. We stand in silence, eyes locked on the door before us. There is no light in this carriage, as there are no windows. The only thing apparently obvious to my senses is the faint ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. I can't help but glance over towards Cato is standing, and even though I can barley make out his face in the dim light, I know he's nervous. And, actually, I can't blame him. We're both certain we are going to win, but it's always daunting, the first exposure to the fame of being a tribute. We've done this before, but it's still just as, if not more so intimidating than last time. We died in the last Games, we have to show them that we are worth something.

I stand perfectly upright, my body rigid and dominant, and my head held high. It does not matter if I am not feeling the most confident, I must show it, no matter what. I am a career tribute, I am a killer, I am a victor.

Conall pushes us forward slightly, the prep team step out of the way, the clock strikes twelve and the doors open.

What seems like thousands of people scream and cheer as we step off the carriage, and I can't help but smirk at the fact they were so much louder for us than they were for District One. After a few moments of allowing the Capitol to gawk at us, we are quickly ushered along the clearly marked path to the building about a hundred feet away, the prep-centre. It feels so good to breathe the fresh air again, well, as fresh as the air cab be in a bustling capital city.

The screams eventually die down to quieter cheers as we grow further away from the station. We are practically pushed through the large front door in to the prep-centre. At first, the bright white light of the room is blinding and it takes a minute or so for my eyes to adjust to the blinding rays. Somewhere in between the bustling station and the temporarily blindness I realise I have been ushered away from Cato and Conall and I'm now walking down a practically dead hallway, with one of my stylists.

Without warning I am pretty much pushed through a door, in to a reasonably small room. The door closes sharply behind me, causing my head to whip round quickly, to watch as the door is locked. It's standard precaution, I suppose. It's obvious I do not wish to escape. I turn back, the walls are lined with a soft navy paint, and the floor is a dark oak wood. There is a chair towards the back of the room, along with a large mirror and a table that appears to be lined with various different products. I assume my stylist should be here soon. The dead silence of the room only now makes me realise there is a faint ringing in my ears, all the noise has seemed to have left a short-term effect. It's not a problem, more an annoyance than anything else. I inhale slowly, and exhale in a deep sigh as I make my way to the bench on the other side of the room.

As soon as I take a seat, the door flies open. A woman enters the room. At first, I am startled by her appearance. Her face is hued a almost shockingly pale white, and her eyes are of a crimson scarlet tint, which match her lips to the perfect tone. Long obsidian hair swamps her face and falls down to just below her elbows, which frames her face to make for a very shocking first glance. Her face had been altered so much I feel as if it would be impossible to guess her age. Never the less, she is here to do a job; not to win a beauty contest.

"Clove, is it?" She asks as she shuts the door slowly. Her voice is surprisingly soft, and not at all as I thought it would be.

"It is." I state, and suddenly divert my gaze, realising it is apparent I am staring.

"Like the spice? Or like the plant?" She inquires, suddenly. I can't say that I was expecting that. I figured she'd just get on with it, instead of making pointless conversation. For some reason, most people didn't realise chit-chat wasn't necessary. Quite frankly, it was annoying. But why not humour her?

"Neither." I pause for a moment, finding the right way to phrase my next sentence. "It comes from the verb to cleave." I stop, wondering if she can trace a definition, but from her blank facial expression I can tell, she cannot. "To cleave: to split or divide by, or as if by, a cutting blow. Especially on a natural line of weakness." I can't help but force a smirk, as I explain the sinister meaning behind something as so simple as my name. _Everything about me is vicious. _

"Well then." She remarks, a smile forming on her unusual face. "I suppose you're as violent as your name." She's trying her best to hide it, but I can tell by the way her pace is a little off when she walks towards me, and how there seems to be a nervous stutter as she began her sentence, that she is a little daunted at the fact I've killed, and I will kill. But here's the strange thing about the Capitol, they love it. She wasn't faking her smile, she was generally excited to see such a visibly insane murderer entertaining them, even if it was natural instinct for her to be nervous being around a person like me. And I can't help but find _that_ entertaining.

"Indeed I am." I say, coldly as I stand up, and look directly at her. I find it funny how I can look at someone like her, and have her cowering without a word. Even if her job calls for her to act professional as she can, there's only so much she can do. She is hiding it best as she can, but when you've been trained for ten years to seek out weakness in someone, fear is easily deduced.

"Well then..." She says again, her eyes locked on mine, as if she is trying to see through me as easily as I can see through her.

_Good luck with that._

"...I suppose, we best get started."


End file.
